Vintage Vinyl

In today's story,Vintage Vinyl, a casual party takes a strange turn

Today's prompt was inspired by a recent album purchase, a vintage copy of Louis Armstrong Meets Oscar Peterson. 

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More about Susan Quilty

Susan Quilty mainly writes novels, including two standalone novels and her current YA series: The Psychic Traveler Society.  Susan's short stories for Freely Written are created during quick writing breaks and shared as a way to practice her narration skills before she dives into recording audio versions of her novels.

Website:  SusanQuilty.com
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Transcript

Below is the transcript for Season 1, Episode 141 of Freely Written, a podcast by author Susan Quilty:

Welcome to Freely Written where a simple prompt leads to a little unplanned fiction.  

[Light piano music]

Hi, friends! I’m Susan Quilty and today’s prompt is Vintage Vinyl.

There’s something about vinyl records… Some people say they have better sound. Others may like the nostalgia or enjoy the hunt for vintage finds. For me, it’s kind of about the limitations. Like searching out special albums and choosing when to spend my money on them, or the need to stand up and flip a record, instead of letting the music play indefinitely. 

To be honest, I usually prefer new albums, or old albums re-released on vinyl. Less chance of smudges and scratches. Though I also like stumbling on vintage vinyl, like my recent find: Louis Armstrong Meets Oscar Peterson. That find inspired today’s writing prompt. 

If you’re new to Freely Written, here’s how it works: I sit down with a prompt and write whatever comes to mind, with no planning and very little editing. Then, I record the story to share it with you.

Here’s what came up today:

Vintage Vinyl

The bar was stocked with mixers, swizzle sticks, and clear cubes of ice. Chandeliers gleamed with polished crystals, and six penguins balanced silver trays of hors d’oeuvres on their well-trained heads. Diana and Ted always used penguin butlers for their evening soirées. They lent a formal flair to the occasion without the need for fitted tuxedos, and they worked for a reasonable payment of fish and krill. 

The penguins also impressed their first-time guests, though their friends were all too chic to show their surprise when the birds waddled over to offer canapés and caviar on toast points. Drinks were passed by human waiters, which was a sore point with the penguins. They were perfectly capable of keeping beverages steady on their trays. It was the hosts who felt that penguins serving cocktails left their guests too distracted as they watched for sloshing liquids. 

Tonight was a relatively casual party, by Diana and Ted’s standards. A simple gathering to share the latest additions to their collection of vintage vinyl. A night of music, food, and good conversation. Maybe a little dancing, if the mood was right. 

Their deejay, a capuchin monkey named Sassy Sparrow, had an easy job: Keep the records spinning. No mixing or scratching. Just starting the records and flipping them promptly. She worked behind three turntables laid out in a row, avoiding any lull while the next records were prepped for play. 

Unlike the penguins, DJ Sparrow was decked out in a tiny tuxedo with a pleated black skirt. Her assistant also wore a tiny tux, though without the shining sapphire buttons that decorated Sassy’s shirtfront. 

Diana, Ted, and their friends were dressed less formally. They wore casual slacks and lightweight sweaters. Just right for a breezy evening in the hills where the terrace doors were left open, allowing easy access to impressive views of the starry night sky and the twinkling lights of the valley far below. 

“What’s new on the playlist tonight?” A guest asked Diana as she lifted a mini crab cake from a passing penguin. 

“Well,” Diana began with a breathy pause. She loved to pause for dramatic effect. “We found an absolute trove of vintage vinyl at this tiny antique shop during our recent trip up the coast. You know, when we stayed in that absolutely fabulous little inn?”

Her friend nodded encouragement, smiling with more enthusiasm than she—or any reasonable person—could possibly feel as Diana slowly spun her story. 

Across the room, Ted was not talking about their recent record finds. It was a risky choice, given Diana’s request that they keep the party’s first hour focused on the music. Instead, Ted and his friends were talking about their next rock-climbing trip. 

“Yeah, we’ll gear up and hit the park at—uh, yeah, original Stones still in the cellophane.” Ted shifted gears hastily, watching Diana’s sister pass by. He hoped she didn’t know which albums they’d recently bought, and he knew she didn’t really care. It was enough that she’d heard him talking about a band, in case Diana asked her later. 

Diana was rather particular about the themes of her parties. If the evening, like tonight, was about music, she would be sure to keep the topic on music. She was not much fun at book club meetings, but at least they talked about the books.

Tonight, Diana was gearing up for a big reveal of their recent record purchases when a commotion at the door drew everyone’s attention. Penguins scurried out of the way, trays tilting precariously, as a tall woman with long red hair strode into the room. A striking red fox was by her side. 

Her eyes locked on Diana as she crossed the room. “Don’t play that record.”

Ted watched, his surprise mirrored as Diana’s mouth dropped open and she cast her eyes around the room. His friends’ uncomfortable shuffling urged him forward, and Ted soon found himself at Diana’s side. They silently stared at the woman, trying to remember if they’d seen her before. 

“Don’t play that record,” the woman repeated. The red fox circled around her legs, looking up at Diana and Ted with casual disinterest. 

“Which record?” Diana stammered at last. 

The red-haired woman narrowed her eyes. 

Ted snapped at one of the human waiters, pointing him toward the albums stacked beside the monkeys’ turntables. Silence filled the room as the waiter fetched the albums and tentatively brought them toward the strange woman. 

“Now, hold on,” Diana protested weakly as Ted stepped forward to show the woman which records they had bought on their recent trip. 

“This one,” she said sharply, pulling an album with abstract red and black cover art from the stack. 

“That one?” Diana echoed in surprise. “I don’t even remember buying that one. Let me see it!”

But the fox hissed, and the red-haired woman pulled the record out of Diana’s reach.

“Oh, that one,” Ted responded, as if it all made sense. “Remember? We found it at that antique shop off the main street. In that box that was, uh, kind of halfway behind the counter.”

He added the last part sheepishly, and Diana recalled how they’d quickly sifted through that box when the shop owner had been called to help a customer at the back of the store. The album had no description or band name, but they’d liked the cover art, and had been a little silly after their afternoon at a winery, so they added it to their stack and bought it from a young clerk who had come over to watch the register in the owner’s absence. 

“You can’t take it,” Diana told the woman indignantly. “We paid for that!”

“It wasn’t for sale,” the woman stated bluntly, then turned on her heel and walked out. Her fox followed close by her side. 

“Hey!” Diana called after the woman, but Ted held her back. Diana turned her annoyance on him. “We paid for that record.”

“Let it go,” Ted said, watching as the door closed behind the strange pair. 

Diana looked around the room, seeing their guests’ shocked stares. She gave an exaggerated shrug and laughed off the moment, saying, “The risk you take when you buy vintage.”

The monkeys hurried to play another record, the penguins circulated fresh hors d’oeuvres, and the party continued with one less record to spin.

The End 

Thanks for listening. Free writing is more fun when there are no rules, though it sometimes leads to unanswered questions, like, “why was the party staffed by animals?” And my only answer is, “why not?” I don’t know who the red-haired woman is or what might be on the record she retrieved. But it’s fun to imagine some answers. 

If you enjoyed this story, please share it with your friends. You can also like and review Freely Written wherever you listen to podcasts. While I have been approached about advertising on Freely Written, I’d rather keep the stories ad-free. If you’d like to support me, you can buy my Freely Written book or a Freely Written t-shirt, or buy one of my novels, which are available in both print and ebook editions. Visit SusanQuilty.com to learn more or check for links in the show notes. 

As an indie author, I truly appreciate your support! 

Until next time, try a little free writing of your own. Let go of any planning and see where your imagination takes you. 

[Light piano music]